Broken Men
by Lady Sam Mallory
Summary: Jim and Blair have to rebuild their lives after a government group tries to destroy them. Original Publish Date: 03/16/03


The usual disclaimers apply: no money, standard character not mine, blah, blah, blah.

A special thank you to my incredible beta, Zoe, who hopefully knows how kick ass she really is.

 **Warnings:** Blair H/C, Angst

 **Spoilers:** Small One for "The Sentinel Too, Part 2."

* * *

BROKEN MEN

Sam Mallory 

* * *

**Chapter 1**

 _The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon him; he indulges it, he loves it; but this never happens in the case of actual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable time. -_ _ **Edmund Burke**_

"He's coming around, sir," a deep voice thundered in his sluggish brain.

"Well, how do you feel?" a floating voice asked him.

"Like I've been hit by a truck... twice," the young man answered.

A cup of water was shoved roughly into his numb fingers, spilling some of the cool liquid onto the concrete floor.

"Careful, you will only receive one cup of water per day. I suggest you mind it carefully," a disembodied voice warned.

"Where am I?" He dropped suddenly as he was struck in the head, further spilling his water.

"You will only speak when spoken to. You may ask no questions. You will obey all commands," the British voice explained.

"You don't know me very well," was the answer spoken as a kick cracked one of his ribs.

"There are rules here. You will follow them or you will suffer the consequences. You are Prisoner Alpha, you may not answer to any other title or you will be met with severe punishment. Is that understood?"

The young man lifted himself from the floor but remained silent, only to be kicked in the knee. He gasped as his knee hyperextended and refused to support his weight any longer.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes," he snapped, receiving a punch to the face breaking his nose.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, cradling his battered body in the fetal position.

"Good," the man stated, satisfied with his subject's responses thus far.

The young man angrily wiped tears from his eyes as he heard them leave. He decided to examine his cell. His prison was about 8 feet square with one heavy iron door and no windows. The room was pitch black, but the walls felt smooth beneath his fingertips. He guessed them to be concrete, which, of course, meant his prison was solid. He groped for the door, finding it to be cold with no markings or windows.

"Great, this room is depressing," he complained to no one in particular. "Can't I at least have a pinup, not that I could see it anyway," he finished dismally.

* * *

Jim strode through the door to the loft. Tossing his keys into the basket, he punched the button for the answering machine and walked to the fridge to grab a beer. _Blair will be back from his conference tomorrow,_ he thought, cheering up slightly.

 _"Hey, man, it's Blair. I've run into some friends and we're going to a Dave Matthews' Concert tomorrow night. Sorry, wish I could have talked to you in person, but it'll be a couple more days. See ya Saturday. My flight gets in at 2PM, same airline,"_ Blair's voice reverberated through the loft.

Jim set down his beer with a grimace. Instead of tomorrow, it would be four more days until he'd have his Guide back. Blair had already been gone nearly a week and he was really looking forward to spending time with him. _Saturday, then,_ he thought grimly.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _That you may retain your self-respect, it is better to displease the people by doing what you know is right, than to temporarily please them by doing what you know is wrong. -_ _ **William J. H. Boetcker**_

"My name is Blair Sandburg. My name is Blair Sandburg," he whispered through the pain, lying on the filthy floor of his cell. He had no idea how much time had passed. This was the only room he'd been in since he'd disappeared. "My name is Blair Sandburg," he whispered again.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, he curled himself into the smallest ball possible. _They're coming,_ he thought wildly. "My name is Blair Sandburg," he whispered again as the door swung open.

"Prisoner Alpha, on your feet," the guard rumbled as Blair tried to drag his broken body off of the floor. He stumbled, earning him a punch to the side of the head, but he held his ground, fearful of what he knew would happen if he fell.

"Prisoner Alpha, kneel facing the wall," the guard dictated harshly.

Blair slowly turned and, grinding his teeth to dust for the pain in his hyperextended knee, knelt down. He felt the metal of the gun shoved roughly against his head and closed his eyes in anticipation for what he knew was coming. The guard cuffed him across the back of the head, laughing as Blair fell to the floor unconscious.

He awoke a short time later to find himself strapped into a metal chair with electrodes pasted to his chest, back and temples. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he held his breath waiting for the newest torment to begin.

"Good of you to join us, Alpha," a wizened face spoke to him, gently. "I am Benjamin. I need some samples, but I'll only be a moment."

Blair blanched at this new development. "What the hell do you need samples for?" he spat angrily, his voice edged in terror.

Benjamin smiled down at him as he uncovered the tray off to Blair's right. "Hold very still. It will hurt less if you comply," Benjamin warned gently.

Flinching as the needle penetrated his arm, Blair watched as the man removed 4 vials of his blood. "Open your mouth, please," Benjamin requested kindly.

Blair, forgetting his earlier defiance, opened his mouth confused by this new turn of events. Benjamin scraped the inside of Blair's cheek, placing the sample in a vial. "Thank you," he said as he gathered his supplies and left the stark white room.

Suddenly, his body arched sharply under the electrical current, causing him to uncontrollably fight the metal straps binding him into the chair. He retched violently as the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air around him. He cried out as the current released him, and his body trembled from the onslaught.

The cycle repeated for the next several hours. Pain and burning mingled with trembling relief and nausea. He slumped forward in the chair unable to even whimper, as his muscles were no longer under his command, and tumbled into the black hell that engulfed him completely.

* * *

Jim paced the terminal of the airport waiting for Blair to deplane his flight. His agitation grew as the crowd thinned out, and his Guide had yet to appear. As the flight crew disembarked, Jim's agitation turned to fear as he realized his Guide was not on the plane. He rushed over to the ticket counter trying unsuccessfully to control his anger and worry.

"Did Blair Sandburg get on the flight out of Chicago?" he demanded gruffly of the counter agent.

"I'm sorry," she said turning her attention to the harried man.

Jim grimaced, barely able to conceal his agitation. "Blair Sandburg. I need to know if he caught the flight out of Chicago!" he hissed, drumming his fingers on the counter as her hands deftly moved over the keys that would confirm what he already knew.

"No, sir, I'm sorry, but Mr. Sandburg did not check in for this flight," she confirmed.

"Did he reschedule for another flight?" Jim questioned tersely.

"I'm sorry, sir, but no he did not," she replied, turning back toward her work.

"When's your next flight to Chicago?" Jim demanded pulling out his wallet. "I need a ticket on your next flight."

"Well, sir, that flight is booked, but if you would like to try standby it leaves in about 40 minutes," she replied helpfully.

"Thank you, standby will be fine," he assured, pulling out his credit card and cell phone simultaneously.

As she ran the credit card, he dialed Simon's number.

 _"Banks."_

"Yeah, Simon, it's Jim. Blair's in trouble. I'm leaving for Chicago in 40 minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can. If you could ask Megan to take my caseload, that'd be great," he finished distractedly.

Signing his credit card receipt he heard Simon reply, _"Well, okay, Jim. Call me when you get in."_

"No problem, sir," he replied closing his phone, pacing the terminal wildly.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _Nothing begins, and nothing ends, that is not paid with moan; for we are born in other's pain, and perish in our own. -_ _ **Francis Thompson**_

Blair strained against the darkness, hoping in vain to find a new avenue of escape to pursue. His head throbbed sharply as he moved around his cell, agitated at his inability to think. _Come on, damnit, think!_ he commanded his pain-filled brain. _How long have I been here?_ he wondered, knowing that the effort was fruitless. There existed no means for him to determine this without frame of reference.

 _They're coming! My name is Blair Sandburg!_ he thought wildly as they stunned him with a tazer and pulled him from his cell.

 _Again the white room,_ he thought quietly. "Who says life isn't black and white?" he asked beneath his breath, earning him a blow across the side of his head.

He straightened in the chair infinitesimally, unable to pull himself up tall after so much abuse.

"How are you feeling today, Alpha?" Benjamin spoke purposefully.

"Blair," Blair corrected defiantly.

The pain was excruciating as it ripped through his head. "What the hell was that?" he cried out through clenched teeth.

"We have taken the liberty of fitting you with a subdermal pain transmitter," a voice spoke over the speaker. "It provides the desired effect with minimal tissue and brain damage, therefore, allowing for increased control over the subject," the man lectured.

"Great," Blair hissed as another wave of searing pain tore through him like tissue paper.

"You will only speak when spoken to," the voice commanded. "How long have you been a Guide?" the interrogation began.

"Guide? I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about?" Blair answered as his ears popped from the increased pressure in his head.

"Alpha, we know that you are a Guide to Detective James Joseph Ellison. How long have you been a Guide?" the voice floated above him.

Blair sat impassively in the chair, tears rolling down his face as another wave of pain crashed in on him.

"Answer the question!" the voice demanded. "Perhaps you require motivation for interrogation."

Blair froze and he prayed they did not have Jim as well.

"We have no need for your Sentinel, Alpha. Please do not force us to involve him. Answer the question!"

 _They don't have Jim,_ Blair sighed his relief, but remained stoic.

A panel on the wall opened revealing a monitor. On the screen was a young boy, about eight or nine years old, sitting on a bed reading. He suddenly doubled over moaning in pain, holding his head between his small hands.

"No! No!" Blair screamed at the top of his lungs as his own pain thrashed to life. "Four years," he cried out painfully.

"Now that wasn't so difficult, was it, Alpha?" the voice admonished.

Blair glared, but managed to hold his tongue.

"How did you discover that you had this gift?" the voice began again.

Confused, Blair replied, "I don't understand."

"I've read your work, Alpha. Your perceptions of the Sentinel are remarkably accurate, but you mention very little of the Guide," the voice accused, then yelled impatiently. "How did you come to bond with Detective Ellison?"

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Speak up!"

 **"I don't know!"** he screamed uncontrollably.

"Thank you, Alpha. Benjamin, prepare him for desensitization."

"Yes, sir." Benjamin replied stoically as he began to ready the young man for his time in the sensory chamber.

Blair hesitated as he asked, "Wh... What are they going to do to me?"

"It'll be over before you know it," the older man comforted quietly continuing his ministrations.

* * *

Blair awoke to find himself floating in a blue gelatinous substance. His eyes were taped open as strobe lights bombarded his eyes simultaneously with loud warbling sirens assaulting his hearing. He thrashed in the tank until he realized that his efforts were rewarded with searing pain in his head and body as the transmitter was activated, and the pain became nearly unbearable.

Resigned to his fate, instantly regretting the tests that he put Jim through, he settled down as tears rolled down his cheeks, and he screamed for the onslaught to his senses to cease.

 _Help me, Jim,_ he thought hopelessly.

* * *

Jim paced his hotel room, as he rifled through the things Blair had left behind. The hotel had graciously provided them when they realized that the young observer might have encountered trouble in their very own establishment. Unwilling to weather the press field day that would ensue at the disappearance of one of their guests, they capitulated, releasing Blair's items to him almost immediately.

Several days had passed since Jim's arrival at the hotel, the last place his Guide had been seen.

Jim carefully folded Blair's clothes as the herbal scent carried to his sensitive nose. "Where the hell could he be?" he wondered not for the first time in the past few days.

The phone disturbed his train of thought and he snatched up the receiver.

"Ellison," he grumbled.

"Jim, it's Simon. I should be at the hotel in about an hour. With Sandburg missing and the disturbing lack of leads, I thought you might need a hand."

Jim smiled. He knew that Simon had a soft spot for the kid, even if he wouldn't admit it. "Thanks, Simon. See ya soon."

Setting the phone back in its cradle, Jim began to take stock of Blair's belongings yet again.

"Okay, what have we got?" he asked as he sifted through clothes, toiletries and the kid's wallet. "Think, Ellison! Why would his wallet still be here?" He looked inside the wallet and found $50 and a Dave Matthews ticket stub. "Wherever he was going, he didn't think he'd need his wallet, or he was grabbed from the room. His room key is missing so he may have taken it with him," Jim rationalized.

The wallet smelled so much like his Guide. He concentrated on the herbal components that comprised the scent, identifying them one by one as they permeated his senses. Staring off into the distance, he held the wallet tightly as the scent of his Guide washed over him.

A knock at the door brought him out of his near zone out. _Not good, Jim,_ he thought disgustedly as he rose to answer the door.

"Hey, Simon. How was your flight?" Jim asked conversationally.

"Fine, what took you so long to get to the door?" Simon asked impatiently, throwing his bag onto the floor next to the bed.

"Ready to get started?" Jim asked, ignoring his Captain's earlier question.

"Yeah," Simon began. Looking into the Sentinel's eyes, he continued. "You took so long because you were zoning on something, weren't you?"

Jim nodded and let the matter drop completely.

"Blair was last seen by the front desk eight days ago. He left no messages. His wallet is still here, but his backpack and notebooks are missing. His friends last saw him at a Dave Matthews concert last Tuesday night, exactly one week ago."

"That's not much to go on, Jim. Have you been able to pick up anything with your senses?"

"Nothing, Simon. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth!" Jim exclaimed angrily.

"Calm down, Jim. You can't help him if you don't keep your head clear," Simon reminded his detective gently.

 **"I know, but it's damned frustrating!"** Jim yelled.

"Jim, we need to talk," Simon broached carefully.

Jim eyed him suspiciously, comprehension suddenly dawning. "Wait a minute, you didn't come out here to help me find Sandburg, did you, sir?"

Simon shook his head, "Not exactly. We have three more days to find him and then we have orders to return to Cascade. The case will remain open as a missing person case," he continued seeing Jim's expression. "It was the best I could do, damnit. It's been over a week and we have zero leads, Jim," he scowled.

"I won't give up, Simon," Jim promised.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _"When I find myself fading, I close my eyes and realize my friends are my energy." -_ _ **Anon.**_

"He's not compatible, sir. His bond to his Sentinel is too strong, and we've been unable to break it, no matter the method employed," Benjamin spoke evenly.

"Report your findings." Benjamin's boss, codenamed Control, ordered firmly.

"The subject has the genetic markers of a Guide, but because of his strong bond to Ellison is not compatible with Micah, sir. We've been working for four weeks, but his bond to Ellison cannot be broken, except with his own death."

"That would not serve our purposes. What is his status? Can he be released?" Control asked impatiently.

"Sir, this is his third round in the desensitization chamber. He's been down for 72 hours. I think it would be safe to release him, sir," Benjamin replied quietly, saddened by how much Alpha reminded him of his own son.

"Prepare him for the exit interview. If he passes, we'll release him," Control ordered curtly, turning toward the one way mirror on the far wall. "I want to speak to him within the hour."

"Yes, sir," Benjamin replied, rushing to get his subject ready in time.

* * *

Blair sat in the dim room staring blankly at the white wall.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Alpha," Blair replied despondently.

"Very good, Alpha," Control commended. "Where have you been, Alpha?"

"I don't know," Blair replied, not once making eye contact or showing emotion of any kind.

The interview continued for half an hour. Finally, Control got up from his chair. Blair made no move to follow. Control left the room, nodding affirmatively to Benjamin as he headed out the door.

Benjamin smiled, knowing his subject would be saved.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _"Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all." -_ _ **Dale Carnegie**_

Jim slammed the phone down as he threw his files disgustedly at the computer.

"What's wrong with this damned thing?" he growled anxiously.

"Jim?" Megan questioned quietly "What's the matter, love?"

"This damn thing isn't working, and to make matter worse, I just got a call from downstairs and the perp from last night gave the uniforms the slip about 30 minutes ago!" Jim yelled as he rifled angrily through the files on his desk.

Simon's office door opened, "Jim, can you come in here, please?" Simon asked cautiously.

Jim pushed his chair back forcefully and stalked into the office slamming the door behind him.

Brown leaned over to Megan, "Now you know what he was like before Sandburg," he whispered under his breath.

Jim glared out into the bullpen. Turning to Simon, he growled, "What is it? A case?"

"No, Jim," Captain Banks paused, choosing his words carefully. "Chicago PD just called to let us know that Sandburg's case hasn't turned up any leads. They're filing it, Jim," he finished quietly.

 **"What?"** Jim yelled, rushing to his feet as his chair crashed to the floor.

"Jim, it's been almost five weeks with no leads on the case. They don't have a choice!" Simon emphasized with a heavy sigh. "Look, Jim, it doesn't mean we're giving up," his voice broke.

"Like hell it doesn't. Look, I know you're right. After 5 weeks with no leads, it seems hopeless," Jim spoke sternly. He walked over to the window and looked out over the city. He sighed and whispered, "He's out there, Simon. I know he is!"

"Jim, why don't you take the rest of the day..." Simon began.

"I can't go home, Simon. It's too quiet," he whispered.

"Jim, you've been pulling doubles since you got back from Chicago. Why not take a little break?" Simon reasoned.

"NO! I said it's too damn quiet. Now let it be, sir," he snapped. "Is that all, sir?"

"Yeah," he sighed heavily.

Jim turned and stalked into the bullpen looking for the next sacrifice to his temper.

* * *

Benjamin brushed the curls from Alpha's face and sighed deeply. _He looks so much like my son,_ he reminisced.

"Why are we dumping him in Cascade? Wouldn't it have been easier to just dump him in Chicago?" the driver questioned.

"It is not your place to question Control's motivations!" Benjamin snapped firmly. _Or mine,_ he added silently in his head.

The white van circled the downtown area before dropping their unconscious bundle in a darkened alley.

* * *

Jim shoved back the beer bottles surrounding him on the bar. Four weeks. It had been four weeks since Blair had disappeared. Shaking his head sadly, he called the bartender over.

"Give me another whiskey," he demanded, rubbing his face with his hands to keep his emotions at bay.

He had never felt so helpless in his life. Not even when Lash had taken Blair. At least with Lash, there were clues. He knew who had him and how much time he had to find him. _And I rescued him, just barely,_ he thought disdainfully.

The bartender returned with the whiskey. "Look, can I call you a cab?" he asked the inebriated detective.

Jim waved him off, tossing back the whiskey without a second thought. "Another," he ordered, slamming the glass onto the bar.

The bartender grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured the man's last drink. "Last drink, sir. I'll call you a cab," the bartender informed him.

"I don't need a cab! I need another drink!" Jim slurred angrily, slamming the glass once again on the bar.

"Look, man. We don't want any trouble in here, and I personally think you'd rather sleep this off in bed, instead of the drunk tank. You won't be getting anymore drinks here, mister, so you need to move along," the bartender suggested helpfully.

Jim pushed away from the bar furiously as the bouncer came up and took his elbow.

"Yeah, I'm leaving. I can... see myself... out," Jim slurred, his words blending together, grabbing the unfinished bottle of beer he had given up earlier for the stronger whiskey.

Jim turned and staggered from the bar, bottle in hand, as a patrol car passed by. He bumped into the wall dropping the bottle, which infused his fury as he began to beat at the wall for denying him the last of his alcohol.

"God, Blair. Where are you? I need you!" he sobbed out, sliding down the wall in defeat.

The patrolmen approached the downed man carefully, hands on their nightsticks.

"Look, buddy. You're gonna need to move along. You can't stay the night here," the taller officer warned him non-aggressively, not wanting to goad the obviously angry man.

"Dave, look at his hands," the shorter officer exclaimed.

"Damn, go ahead and call Cascade General. Tell them we're bringing in a customer for them," the officer grumbled as he dragged the big man to his feet.

Placing Jim in the back of the squad car, the shorter officer gasped. "Oh crap, Dave. It's Ellison!" he exclaimed beneath his breath, just loudly enough for his partner to hear him.

"Shit!" Dave cursed as he climbed into the car. "Well, Gary, better call someone over at Major Crimes."

* * *

Jim groaned as the attending doctor attempted to approach him yet again to bandage his hands. So far, he hadn't allowed anyone to touch him. Yelling, Jim shoved them away and backed into the corner, his eyes wild.

"Jeannette, call Cal and see if you can get a few orderlies in here to help us. Jesus, what's this guy on, anyway?" the attending resident sighed under his breath.

"That's Detective Ellison," Lisa, a nurse, replied sadly. "His partner was kidnapped about a month ago and he's apparently not handling it well. I'll go get Dr. Franklin. He's worked with them before, too many times in fact," she reported as she turned to page the doctor to emergency.

Lisa stopped short as the looming Captain boomed from the waiting room. "WHERE IS MY DETECTIVE?"

Turning on her heel, she approached the man, hands wide in front of her in supplication. "Captain Banks, we're having a problem with your man. Will you follow me, please?"

Captain Banks trailed her down the hall anxiously and heard Jim yelling as they crossed into the Emergency Trauma unit. He hurried his steps toward the yelling. Flinging the door open, he used his most authoritative voice to get through to Ellison.

"DETECTIVE, YOU WILL ALLOW THEM TO TREAT YOU!" Captain Banks' voice boomed throughout the room causing Jim to shrink back into the wall, his hands clutching the sides of his head to block out the sound.

"Shit," Simon exclaimed when he realized that the Sentinel had overloaded. "I need everyone out right now. I'll take responsibility. Out now!" he ordered as he bodily escorted some of the physicians out the door.

Crossing the room, his hands held wide, he quietly approached the Sentinel. "Jim, you need to dial it down," he whispered, wishing not for the first time that Sandburg were here to handle this. "Jim, come on. It's going to be okay," he soothed, hoping to draw the man out of his overload. "Blair needs you!" He knew it was playing dirty, but he needed his detective back.

He watched as Jim jerked and a sudden calmness surrounded his inebriated man. "Jim, let the doctors treat you and then I'll take you back to the loft and knock some sense into you. You got that, Detective?" Simon asked, making sure they were clear.

Jim nodded, instantly regretting the action as his head rebelled and he felt the bile rise to his throat.

Simon shook his head, disappointed that Jim had given in to the hopelessness, and went to get the doctor.

A few hours later found them at the loft. Jim relieved his body of some of its poison, heaving into the toilet until he was reduced to a quivering man plagued with dry heaves. Moaning, he reached for the glass of water that Simon offered and rinsed out his mouth.

"I bet you feel like shit, Jim. Well, this did nothing to help get Blair back. You know that, don't you?" Simon asked, somewhat unforgiving of his detective's lapse in judgment.

"Yeah, I know," Jim shrugged. "But for a time," Jim paused as the dry heaves racked his body once again. "I forgot the pain," he finished sadly, shaking as he gasped to bring his emotions under control.

"I know, but it's not the answer. We'll find him, Jim. If it's the last thing we do, we'll find him," Simon assured his broken friend, placing his hand heavily on Ellison's shoulder as a sign of his support.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment. -_ _ **Marcus Aurelius Antoninus**_

Blair awoke to the smell of garbage and the stinging light that was blinding him. Shielding his watering eyes, he stumbled to his feet. His confusion mounted as he realized he was not in the safety of his cell.

 _Where am I?_ he thought rampantly. Staggering out into the open street, he was nearly hit by a car. Blair tucked his chin to his chest and using one arm to shield his eyes and the other hand to cover his right ear, he began to rock back and forth, as he pressed himself into the wall of the cafe he'd stumbled upon.

A woman, noticing his distress, attempted to help him. "Are you okay?" she asked loudly trying to get his attention.

He turned away violently, crying out as the woman's loud voice assaulted his ears. Blair slid down the wall, curling into a ball, wailing at the onslaught to his senses.

"Make it stop," he sobbed quietly, a broken man.

"Somebody call for help," she cried out as he sobbed, his head resting on his knees.

A few minutes later, a car arrived on the scene. Brown and Rafe, one block from the area, had decided to take the call.

Rafe approached the woman swiftly and smiled. "What seems to be the problem, Miss?" he asked gently.

"This man. There's something wrong with him, and I didn't want to leave him alone for fear he might hurt himself. He was almost hit by a car when he wandered too close to the street," she explained.

"We'll take care of it, ma'am. Thanks a lot," Brown replied.

Rafe and Brown strode over to the young man. His hair was wild and frizzed and they couldn't make out his face.

"Oh man," Brown cursed to himself quietly. _Why do we always get the crazy ones?_ he asked silently.

"Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!" the man cried out from beneath the mass of wild hair.

Brown and Rafe exchanged terrified looks as they recognized the voice of a young police observer.

"Oh shit!" Brown hollered as he bent down beside Blair to comfort the young man.

Blair howled, rolling from his touch, and resumed his rocking as well as his mantra.

"I'll call it in," Rafe breathed running for the car.

* * *

Simon came out of his office, decidedly a little pale.

"Jim?" he called quietly.

"What is it, Simon?" Then upon seeing the Captain's face, he knew. "They found him?" he questioned, grabbing his keys and preparing to take off.

"Jim, wait! Joel, help me out here," Simon requested a little backup.

Joel grabbed Jim's arm and guided him toward Simon's office, closing the door.

Simon began to explain the situation. "Rafe and Brown fielded the call and are on the scene. Jim, he's unresponsive."

"But he's alive. Let's go, Simon," Jim begged.

"Okay, but I'm driving," Simon commanded as he grabbed his keys and they raced for the car.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _"We do not know the true value of our moments until they have undergone the test of memory." -_ _ **Georges Duhamel**_

On the scene, Jim was out of the car before Simon had stopped. He raced to his partner, stopping where Rafe and Brown had placed a barrier in an effort not to startle Blair.

"Blair?" Jim questioned tentatively.

"He doesn't respond to his name, Jim," Henri warned.

Jim stumbled as the impact of Brown's statement assailed him but nodded his acceptance.

"Blair, it's Jim," he said quietly attempting to move closer.

Jim flinched as Blair began to wail when Jim stretched out his hand toward him.

"Make it stop! Make it stop!" Blair cried quietly.

"Jim, man, an ambulance is on the way," Henri informed the intense man.

"Thanks, Brown," Jim replied softly. "Simon," he waited for the man to step up beside him. "It's like everything is hurting him," he whispered in answer to Simon's nod to continue.

"I can make the pain stop, Chief," Jim whispered, trying out his familiar nickname, hoping for a response.

The EMT's raced on the scene. "Oh my God, it's Blair," Mike slurred, failing to hide his surprise. "What's his status?" he asked, returning to business.

"What you see is what you get, Mike. He doesn't respond to his name and seems to be in a lot of pain. I can't get close to him," Jim finished sadly.

Mike nodded his understanding, thinking, _Shit, if Ellison can't get close to him, we're screwed._ Then turning to Jim, "Think you can distract him so I can get close enough to sedate him?"

Jim nodded and knelt in front of Blair. "I'm going to help you, Chief. It'll be okay. Trust me."

Vacant blue eyes looked into determined ones as Mike drove the syringe home into Blair's right bicep. Blair slumped against the wall within five minutes.

* * *

Jim hated the smells that assaulted his nose in the hospital, but today the worst smell by far was fear, mainly his own. Blair had to be lightly sedated to get him to the hospital and again to examine him.

"What the hell happened to that kid?" Jim grumbled then looked up as the ER doctor crossed the room.

"Are you here for Blair Sandburg?" Dr. Weaver inquired.

"Yeah, Doctor. How is he?" Simon found his voice first.

"Let's talk in my office, please," she said, turning on her heel.

Closing the door behind them, she began, "Mr. Sandburg has really been through the wringer. He's been brainwashed for one."

Jim's hands clenched the arms of the chair turning his knuckles white as snow.

"What do you mean, he's been brainwashed?" Jim asked apprehensively.

"When I asked him his name, he said it was Alpha. It's a designation. As near as I can tell, Mr. Sandburg has spent the last five weeks being systematically brainwashed and tortured. There's evidence of recently cracked ribs that have pretty much healed. He also walks with a limp due to a hyperextension injury of his knee that was not properly cared for. I found evidence of a possible concussion, although the evidence is faded to this point. He has developed problems with light and sound, actually more of an aversion. I found trace amount of a strong sedative in his system that was not ordered by the EMT's. He responds to questions only. He will not speak unless spoken to. He was pushed hard gentleman," she finished, looking up from her report.

"Will he ever be Blair again?" Jim asked quietly, tears in his eyes.

"It's hard to say, but I think so. It'll just take a lot of time to undo his conditioning. We'll get started when he's feeling better," she finished up. "Now why don't you go home and get some rest?" she suggested gently.

"I have to see Blair first, Doctor," Jim replied anxiously.

"Sorry, it's Weaver. Dr. Weaver," she introduced tiredly. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Detective," she hesitated.

"Look, he's my partner and he's been missing for almost five weeks. I need to see him... please," Jim begged.

"Okay, but only for a few minutes, gentlemen. We've prepared a special room for him, just to warn you. He can't take any real sensory stimulus," she finished. "He's in room 318."

They made their way to the room reservedly. Jim gasped when he opened the door to find a stripped down white room with nothing but a bed, not even a television that his partner used to drive him crazy channel surfing on.

Blair huddled in the corner rocking to comfort himself in his unfamiliar surroundings.

"Blair?"

Blair remained curled in the corner rocking unaware of being spoken to. Jim remembered his briefing with the doctor and winced. "Alpha?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Blair replied evenly.

"How are you feeling?" Jim asked softly.

"Fine, sir."

Jim's disbelief showed as he watched Blair give the unaccustomed one-word answers and overly respectful title.

"Where have you been, Bl... Alpha?"

"I don't know, sir," Blair replied in a monotone.

"Do you mind if I sit down with you for awhile?" Jim choked on the words quietly.

"No, sir."

"Thanks, man. I missed you while you were gone."

Jim smiled as he saw the familiar shrug, the only thing that was faintly reminiscent of his Guide, then settled in across from his partner to forge into the long night.

Blair didn't sleep. He pressed his back firmly into the wall farthest from the door and watched the door, tensing each time footsteps would approach. Around 10:00 that night, the door opened and Blair's nurse Dianne walked in.

"Mr. Sandburg? Do you want to try to sleep in the bed?" she asked quietly.

"No, sir," he replied evenly, pressing further into the wall.

"Do you need something to help you sleep?" she inquired pleasantly.

"No, sir," he answered his eyes wide.

"Okay, well just press the button if you need me." She smiled and walked out of the room casting a concerned glance toward Jim.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 _What is deservedly suffered must be borne with calmness, but when the pain is unmerited, the grief is resistless. -_ _ **Ovid**_

Blair woke with a start. "Where am I?" he asked rhetorically.

"You're in the hospital," Jim whispered quietly.

Blair reared back at the sound of a foreign voice in his cell. Then settled slightly as he realized it was the big man who had helped stop the pain.

"It's okay, Chief. You're okay. Nobody's going to hurt you," Jim soothed, then stopped as he realized Blair's eyes were focused on the door. He was waiting for something, but Jim couldn't tell what.

"What's the matter, buddy? Do you need something?"

"Yes, sir," Blair replied softly.

"What do you need?"

"I can't find the bucket. It should be right there," Blair pointed to the corner by the door.

"Bucket?" Jim asked momentarily confused. Then he realized what Blair needed. "You need to go to the bathroom?" he asked tenderly, trying to control his anger at what his partner had been through.

"Yes, sir," Blair voiced his eyes downcast.

"Hey, it's okay. You can go in here," Jim gestured to the bathroom as he pulled himself up from the floor.

Blair looked into the bathroom, and his eyes began to tear as he relieved himself in a toilet for the first time in over a month. "Sink?" he could hardly believe his eyes. Turning on the water, he let it flow over his hands, then splashed it on his face and into his mouth. He smiled, eyes glistening, as the cool water washed over him.

Jim, wondering what Blair was up to, knocked on the door, then opened it to help his Guide. He was taken aback as he watched Blair playing in the water laughing. When Blair caught his eye, he abruptly stopped. Jim stepped back from the door and assured his young Guide that his behavior was allowed.

Blair smiled and continued to gulp the water heartily until he began to retch.

"Take it slow, buddy. You don't want to make yourself sick," Jim said with a smile.

Blair played until he fell asleep on the floor in the bathroom, his white pajamas soaked from all the water on the floor. Jim smiled down at him and called for the nurse.

Diane came into the room within a minute. "Did you need something, Mr. Sandburg?" she asked as she was coming through the door. "Oh, Detective Ellison, is there something I can get for you?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a smile, "we need another pair of pajamas, please," he finished gesturing to his sleeping Guide.

Diane smiled as she saw him sleeping finally. "Why is he soaked to the skin?" she demanded quietly.

"I don't think he's seen water in awhile. He was playing in it and gulping it down," Jim answered smiling.

"Well, I'll bring those pajamas right down and get him changed."

"Just bring the pajamas and I can take care of the rest," Jim assured her.

A few minutes later, Dianne reappeared with a crisp clean pair of white pajamas in hand. She handed them to Detective Ellison and, assured that he needed no further assistance, took her leave.

Jim carefully monitored Blair's heart rate and respiration to ensure his Guide slept deeply. Then without hesitation he began to dry Blair off and changed him into some dry clothes. Blair barely stirred as Jim administered to him and placed him on the bed under the blankets where he slept for the rest of the night.

* * *

"I know it's difficult Blair, but you need to do it," Caitlin prodded.

Blair grimaced and tried the exercise she had shown him again when the door to his room opened wide.

"How's it going today, Caitlin?" Jim asked the physical therapist with a smile.

"Not bad, he's still stiff on that knee, but we're working it out, aren't we Blair?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes, sir," he replied resigned to finish his therapy.

"Blair, remember you can call me Caitlin," she reminded gently.

"Yes, Caitlin," he mimicked.

Jim smiled as he watched Blair finish up his exercises. "Well, Chief, are you ready to try those legs out? Dr. Weaver thought you might like to eat in the cafeteria today," he added.

"Yes, si... J-Jim," he tried out the name as Jim beamed at this new accomplishment.

"Okay, but we have to be back by one for your appointment with Trisha," Jim reminded the younger man. "Oh, and Simon's going to meet us down there, if that's okay."

"'Kay," Blair's distracted reply crossed the room.

The two men made their way down to the cafeteria. Seeing Simon, Jim waved him over and they sat down with their trays.

Blair attacked his food voraciously. Jim and Simon watched him in awe as he packed away the sandwich and chips.

"Man, Sandburg, they feeding you okay?" Simon teased.

"Yes, sorry C-Captain. I forget sometimes," Blair stammered.

"It's okay, kid. I was only teasing you a little. You go right ahead and eat. What did you eat when you were away?" he asked gently probing.

"They brought me bread and mush once a day along with my one cup of water. I ate it slowly to make it last longer between the tests," Blair informed them.

Jim paused to reign in his amazement. _That's the most he's talked about what happened,_ he thought sadly. "What else do you remember, Blair? Blair?"

"S-Sorry, I forget that's my name sometimes. My memory's not so good anymore. I remember that it used to be. I would sit in my cell and repeat to myself, 'My name is Blair Sandburg.' I guess somewhere along the way I forgot that. The desensitization treatments probably wiped a lot of that out," Blair finished quietly.

"Blair, your memory is fine. You went through hell and you deserve to step back and have a little down time. Do you remember what they did during these desensitization treatments?"

"It's k-kinda fuzzy. There was a tank filled with blue sticky stuff, kinda like J-Jell-O. Benjamin would tape my eyes open," he paused trying to remember as Jim's face registered shock at the remembered name. "It was loud," he continued covering his ears. "The lights, they blinked in my eyes. I don't know..." Blair stammered. "I don't remember any more," he turned away holding onto his head as the headache formed behind his eyes and relentlessly held him hostage.

"Blair, you okay?" Jim worriedly asked.

"Yeah, it just hurts... when I try to remember. Like they don't want me to..." he trailed off.

"Who's Benjamin?" Simon inquired gently.

"Benjamin? I don't know anyone named Benjamin," Blair shrugged as he finished his pudding.

"Well, Chief, it's almost one now. We better get you to Trisha's office for your appointment," Jim reminded as he gathered their trays and deposited them on the conveyor belt.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 _"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." -_ _ **Albert Einstein**_

"You understand Detective Ellison that this meeting is to determine Mr. Sandburg's fitness for return to an uncontrolled environment," Dr. Weaver began.

"Yeah, Dr. Weaver, I understand that, but you make it sound like we're throwing him to the wolves," Jim snapped, his anger barely restrained.

Dr. Weaver flinched as the detective slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his statement.

Drawing a deep breath, she continued, "Mr. Sandburg requires round the clock supervision. His current care team involves seven doctors, nurses and therapists who work with him on a daily basis," she started, looking into his eyes to ensure he was aware of the effort and worry she had put into this case. "He is in a protected environment where the chances of further injury are minimal. Surely, you can understand the concern we have for releasing him from this level of care?" Dr. Weaver admonished gently.

"I understand your concern, I'll be with him all the time. I've got nearly six weeks of paid time off that I can take. It's been nearly three weeks since we found him, and I think getting him back to his home might further his recovery, don't you?" Jim questioned, reigning in his anger.

"Detective Ellison, I don't want you to think that we're being unreasonable," Dr. Kent continued where his partner left off. "Mr. Sandburg's condition is very delicate. Somebody went through a lot of trouble to kidnap and torture him relentlessly. He's still working on his memories for the time that he was missing, but there are still vast gaps in what he remembers. Do you honestly think you can give him the level of care he will require at home?" Dr. Kent reasoned.

"Yeah, I do," Jim stated, making eye contact with both doctors, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"Well, I'm afraid we need a little more convincing, Detective Ellison," Dr. Kent spoke coldly.

Jim sighed and took a deep breath in an effort to control his growing fury. "Look, the loft has been Blair's home for over four years. He trusts me. I'm the one person that he has allowed to remain with him from the beginning," Jim paused to make sure his message was getting through. "I was a ranger in the military and worked with covert ops if your concern is Blair's security. I was also an army medic, so I'll know if and when he needs medical attention. We live less than 20 minutes from the hospital. I'm not saying he doesn't need care anymore. All I'm saying is that he needs to get home and start getting into the swing of his life," Jim demanded, his blue eyes pleading.

"But..." Dr. Weaver began.

"I agree with Detective Ellison," Dr. Trisha Mayer proclaimed, tapping her pen on the table. "I've been seeing Blair daily for three weeks now, and I think his recovery would progress if he was someplace familiar," she said, watching the doctors for their disparaging glances. "I can come to the loft two times a week if Detective Ellison will agree to bring him to my office the other three days," she explained with a smile. "He'll have weekends off, but you need to let him talk to you when he is ready and not before," she finished, giving Jim her most stern look.

"PT and OT could work together to come up with a suitable schedule for Mr. Sandburg's treatment at home," Caitlin offered. "I would be able to work him into my outpatient schedule for twice a week to be discharged from care in 1-2 weeks. He's made significant progress thus far. I can give him some exercises to do at home. How long were you wanting to continue working with him, Kendra?" she asked the occupational therapist with a smile.

"About the same," Kendra replied. "He's come a long way since we started working together," she finished, smiling broadly, remembering their last session. "I too will need to show you some exercises that he will need to do daily while he's at home," Kendra informed the anxious detective.

"That shouldn't be a problem. I can come in tomorrow and learn the exercises. Just give me a time and I'll be there," Jim promised, smiling gratefully at the therapist. "I can bring him in for whatever you feel is necessary," Jim reassured the medical team at the table. "We can set up an alternating schedule and schedule it around his doctor and psychiatry appointments. This _will_ work," Jim pleaded.

"And if it doesn't?" Dr. Kent asked grimly, wringing his hands over his file.

"Give us two weeks to work into a schedule. If you don't see any improvement, we can discuss it then. Hear me now, he will _NOT_ go to a long term care facility," Jim promised sternly. "Blair _needs_ to be home!" Jim emphasized, running his hand through his hair, much like his Guide.

"Very well, Detective Ellison, we'll allow it. Two weeks, no extensions," Dr. Kent replied sternly.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 _This is the true nature of home - it is the place of Peace; the shelter, not only from injury, but from all terror, doubt and division. -_ _ **John Ruskin.**_

Jim opened the door and placed his keys in the basket as he ushered Blair into the apartment.

"You hungry, Chief?" Jim asked, closing the door, making his way to the kitchen.

"Yes, I am hungry," Blair replied quietly, looking around the loft hesitantly.

Jim's haunted look as he saw his Guide back in the loft where he belonged drew a surprised look from Blair.

"What's wrong, Blair?" Jim questioned softly.

Blair shook his head and stayed standing in the entryway where Jim had left him.

"You can go ahead and sit down, Chief," Jim welcomed, smiling broadly.

Blair looked warily at the furnishings and sat on the floor his back to the post in the middle of the room.

Jim, finishing the sandwiches and soup, beckoned Blair to the table. "It's okay, Blair," Jim began. "I made us turkey sandwiches and some vegetable soup. Go ahead and grab a chair," Jim nodded toward the table.

Blair pulled himself up from the floor and walked over to the table. "Which chair?" he asked plainly.

"It doesn't matter," Jim assured sensing the younger man's trepidation.

Blair stood frozen in place staring at the chairs.

Jim set the plates on the table and gestured for Blair to sit down. Suddenly, Jim understood the problem. _Man, he doesn't know which one to choose. He can't make the decision,_ Jim thought with an inward sigh. "Here, Blair, why don't you sit in this chair?" he suggested helpfully.

Blair nodded and sat down to begin eating his food. He sipped very slowly at the soup savoring each bite. After a few bites of sandwich, he pushed the plate and bowl to the center of the table.

"What's the matter, Blair? Not as hungry as you thought?" Jim inquired.

"Saving some for later... just in case," Blair replied, taking in his new surroundings. He jumped when he felt a hand gently touch his arm.

"Sorry, Blair, I didn't mean to startle you," Jim apologized gently. "I want to show you something." Jim got up and walked over to the food cupboard. "You can have any food in these cupboards whenever you feel hungry. There's even more food in the fridge. You _do not_ have to save food here. I promise," Jim finished, pulling out two bottles of water from the fridge.

Blair looked disbelieving for a moment, but trusting Jim, he slowly pulled his plate and bowl back in front of him and began to finish his lunch. He yawned, laying his head down on the table, his face hidden by a mass of brown curls.

"Chief, why don't you go lay down in your room?" Jim suggested pointing out the French doors to the anthropologist.

Blair got up slowly and retreated, favoring his still sore knee, into his room to nap.

* * *

Blair grunted as Jim gently forced his knee through the exercises. "Come on, Chief. We're halfway there! You can do it!" Jim encouraged his partner, a small smile playing at his lips.

"No more," Blair cried out exhausted, tears of pain laying salty trails down his haggard face. "It hurts too much, please," he begged, turning on the Sandburg charm with the pouting etched in his eyes and lips.

"It's not gonna work, Blair. You're not going to get better if you don't do these exercises. You _know_ that! Both Caitlin and Kendra have been telling you that since the beginning," Jim reminded him not so gently wearing a stern expression of disappointment.

"I don't want to hear it!" Blair yelled. "I'm tired and I feel like shit and I don't want to do it right now, okay?" Blair hissed, his eyes ablaze, throwing his towel onto the floor.

Jim turned away, trying to hide the sadness and disappointment growing in his eyes.

"Blair," Jim sighed, deciding where to begin. "The doctors told me if you didn't do the prescribed therapy and follow the treatment plan to the letter, they would recommend putting you into a long term care facility," he finished, rubbing his forehead to stave off the encroaching headache.

Blair stared at the floor in shock as he processed this latest piece of information.

Jim, hearing someone come down the hall, crossed the living room to open the door.

"Trisha, how's it going?" Jim greeted her with a weary smile.

"Not bad, but it looks like you could use a break right now. Why don't you take some time while Blair and I talk, okay?" she suggested, smiling at Jim's obvious frustration at the situation.

"Sure, I'll just be a minute," Jim replied as he ran up the stairs and changed into dark blue shorts and a t-shirt complete with running shoes. Coming down the stairs, he said "Blair, I'm gonna go for a run. I'll be back in about an hour. Trisha, there's coffee in the kitchen. I even remembered you like hazelnut," he finished as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

Trisha could barely contain her smile. "Thanks, Jim. That sound fantastic!" she said, crossing to get herself a cup.

"Blair, want to talk about what happened here?" she began the session skillfully.

"Not really," he balked, turning to look longingly out the balcony doors.

"Why were you fighting with Jim? You know he's only trying to help you," she reminded him deliberately, trying to read the expression that crossed Blair's face.

"I'm just so damn tired of all the prodding to do the damn exercises, eat this, drink that. I just want him to get off my damn back!" Blair yelled, bristling at the amount of anger he held for his partner.

"It's okay to be angry, just make sure that you are being honest about what you are really angry about," Trisha suggested, painfully honest.

Blair glared at her angry that she was able to read him so easily. Was he that transparent? No wonder he'd been taken if he was that easy a mark.

"You blame Jim for your abduction, don't you?" Trisha asked the million-dollar question.

When Blair looked away, refusing to give credence to her question, she continued, "Blair, you know that Jim cares about you. He would never ever want anyone to hurt you like that, so why do you blame him?" Trisha goaded perceptibly.

Blair paused, looking into her eyes coldly, he grated his teeth and heaved a sigh. "Because he should have protected me better," he whispered, glancing away.

Trisha leaned forward, placing her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Blair, but I didn't hear you," she said softly, maintaining the comforting contact with her patient.

"HE SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED ME BETTER!" Blair screamed at the top his lungs, leaping from the couch toward the balcony doors. "He's my friend, my partner," _my Sentinel,_ he thought grimly. "He's saved my life so many times. Lash, Kincaid, Zeller, Jenkins. He's been my Blessed Protector for four years and he didn't save me!" Blair yelled, breaking down into tears and falling to his knees in front of the balcony doors. "He couldn't save me," he whispered through the sobs that wracked his small frame.

Trisha crossed over to her fallen patient. "Shhh, it's okay, Blair. It's all gonna be okay. Just let it out," she whispered comfortingly. "Blair, do you know how hard Jim had to fight to get you home?"

Blair shook his head negatively as he swiped the back of his hand at his tears, suddenly embarrassed.

"Jim went to our team meeting and laid it on the line to convince the doctors, nurses, therapists and me that your condition would steadily improve if you were brought home," she paused, watching for the young man's reaction. "He promised that you would do the exercises that he made an appointment with the therapists to go in and learn. He was given a two-week trial time by the team which ends in two days. I admit that, while I was hesitant at first, I concurred with his decision because he was so passionate about it."

Blair smiled slowly as he finally realized that his Sentinel was willing to give up so much to bring his Guide home. He pulled both hands through his hair and exhaled slowly.

"You have a very special friend in Jim Ellison. I don't have a lot of patients who could expect this much support from a friend," she finished with a knowing smile, and patted his hand, gathering herself to leave.

Blair jumped when he heard the key hit the lock on the front door. Jim entered the loft, breathless from his run, and dumped the keys in the basket.

He had pushed himself pretty hard wanting to get back before the therapist left but also because he felt guilty about what had happened to Blair. He should have protected him better. The kid had given him the distinction of "Blessed Protector" and he had to admit on that front, he felt like a complete failure.

Trisha turned to go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blair, in my office," she said as she waved goodbye to the two men and left.

Jim sighed as he locked the door behind her. "I'm gonna grab a shower. I'll be out in a minute," he informed his roommate as he stumbled to the bathroom on abused legs and closed the door.

Blair heard the shower come on a few seconds later and wished for the opportunity to talk to Jim and thank him for bringing him home.

The shower shut off and Jim dashed to his room, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. A few minutes later, he came down the steps and headed to the kitchen to make dinner.

Blair crossed to the kitchen, pausing next to the fridge. "Uh, Jim. Do you think after dinner, we could finish my exercises?" Blair asked somewhat timidly, his eyes focused on Jim's back.

Jim startled visibly at the request, his lips forming a satisfied smile, "What made you change your mind?"

"I just forgot that this is important to you too. Trisha told me how you challenged the medical team to get permission for me to come home. I guess I just don't want to let you down," Blair finished quietly.

"You weren't letting me down, Chief. I just need my partner back, and I'll do anything to help you get there," Jim breathed defiantly, a broad smile chasing away the worried expression that had spent too much time on his face lately.

"I know that or at least now I remember that and Jim?" Blair hesitated waiting for the older man to glance up at him. "Thanks! For everything!" Blair's smile widened as he took in the pleased expression worn by his Sentinel.

"It's good to see you smile, Chief," Jim spoke warmly as he finished up dinner. "Dinner's ready!"

"Great, I'm starved. Let's eat!" Blair exclaimed energetically, sitting down at the table and reaching for the bread.

Jim smiled openly as he watched his Guide devour the food before him. It was so good to see Blair acting a bit more like he had before the abduction. _Maybe things will be alright after all,_ he thought, allowing the peace of that thought to permeate the tension he'd been feeling for months now.

* * *

 ** _Two weeks later..._**

Blair's fingers danced over the books and their very old leather bindings on the shelves in his room. Jim came into the room a few minutes later as Blair continued taking stock of the room.

Jim smiled at the kid. It was great to see him regaining some of his old interests. He'd been discharged from his therapies as well as the doctor's care and although he still saw the psychiatrist once a week, he seemed to be quickly approaching normal.

"Are these all mine?" Blair asked quietly, hoping not to be punished for speaking out of turn.

Jim smiled. "Yeah, Blair, at least most of them are. You would lock yourself in your room for hours reading and researching. Hell, half the time you were so intent on your studying you forgot to eat. You even had to set an alarm to remind yourself to go to bed," Jim finished, laughing softly at the memory.

Blair smiled warmly as he caught a flash of himself sitting on his bed drowning in ancient texts as he took notes furiously. Frustrated, he grabbed a notebook off the desk and began flipping through it angrily as tears flowed down his face. His aggravation getting the best of him, he threw the notebook across the room.

"Come on, Blair, don't be like that," Jim consoled his younger partner.

"Why the hell not, Jim? That guy's dead. They killed him two months ago in that damned facility!" he yelled angrily, as his rage threatened to consume him. Blair screamed out his frustration as he pulled books violently and threw them across the room.

Jim moved forward quickly capturing the young man's arms. "Blair, stop," he started quietly, trying to calm the enraged observer. **"Stop!"** Jim called a little more forcefully as he held Blair's arms tightly.

Blair stopped flailing wildly and relaxed into Jim's grasp sobbing. "Shh... It's okay, Blair. Just let it all out," he soothed, drawing Blair into a tighter embrace.

"Every once in a while, I get a glimpse of myself. You know the man, I used to be and then I feel like its all been wiped away," Blair whispered, tears still running down his sad face.

Jim sighed. "I know, Blair. I know it's been hard, but you've been doing great. Really. You're getting stronger everyday. It'll just take a little more time," Jim reassured him, carding his fingers through Blair's hair.

"How could they do that to me?" Blair sobbed when he could find his voice. "Micah needed me and they kept torturing me. I couldn't help him. I couldn't help... couldn't..." Blair's voice drifted off as he fell into a restless sleep.

Jim paused to make certain that Blair was sleeping deeply before he placed him gently on the bed. Blair stirred slightly but remained asleep as Jim tucked the blankets around Blair's much too frail body and watched him sleep a few minutes before exiting into the living room with a sigh.

He picked up the phone and called Simon.

 _"Banks."_

"Yeah, Simon. Blair just gave me another name we can work on. Unfortunately, it's only the first name Micah. I think Blair was trying to help him. Maybe it was somebody else that they kidnapped," Jim spilled out the information quickly.

 _"Uh, Jim. I need you to come down here when you can,"_ Simon hesitantly requested.

"What is it, Simon? A case? I can't leave Blair right now. He's having a hard day," he stated factually.

 _"No, it's about... what happened... to Blair."_ Simon sighed deeply. _"I can't go into it over the phone, but maybe we can meet at the deli,"_ Simon suggested plainly.

"'Kay, Simon," Jim agreed, confused by this new turn of events.

 _"I'll meet you about 5:00. I'll send Rafe and Brown to stay with the kid,"_ Simon assured his detective.

"See you then," Jim replied, placing the phone back in the charger. "What the hell's going on?" Jim cursed loudly, then paused to confirm that he hadn't awakened Blair.

* * *

Several hours later, Rafe and Brown arrived to watch over Blair as Jim took off for the deli on the corner.

"Okay, Simon. Now what the hell is going on?" Jim demanded, cradling a cup of coffee to warm his hands.

"I want you to listen very closely to me, Jim. We're dropping the case," Simon stated clearly.

Jim sputtered on his coffee as his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell do you mean we're dropping the case?" Jim hissed venomously.

"Listen to me, Jim. These are some very nasty people we're dealing with. I'm doing this to protect Blair... and you. Remember the feds that we talked to about Blair's disappearance?" He continued at Jim's nod, "Well, Jim, they're dead. They were found with their throats slit along with the other fourteen federal employees in the office at the time," Simon paused to let the gravity of his words sink in.

Jim's eyes widened. "They took out an entire FBI field office, agents, support, everything?" he asked stunned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"All of it. All the files about Blair's disappearance are gone and they left us with 16 dead feds," Simon whispered under his breath.

"Shit," Jim hissed, his face as white as a ghost. "You think they'll come after Blair," Jim reasoned from the determined look on Simon's face.

"I think if we push too hard, they'll kill him and anyone else who stands in their way. You _know_ I don't believe in being bullied into dropping a case, Jim, but I've got an entire division to think about. These men wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it takes," Simon met Jim's eyes, meeting the anger held there. "Blair doesn't really have any information that can nail these guys and we're dead in the water. One of my Chicago connections let slip that this may be a covert government sanctioned op and I'm sorry, Jim, but I don't want to see Blair get killed. They let him go for a reason, probably because he didn't remember. Now I know it's hard as hell for you, but I'm asking you to do the same. Let it go!" Simon pleaded with Jim.

"Simon?" Jim began, but thought better of finishing the sentence. "You're right. I can't let them kill Blair. I can't survive without my Guide, Simon," Jim admitted softly. "But you just want to let it go? There's more, isn't there?"

"Yeah," Simon exhaled. "There was a fire in Major Crimes this morning destroying all case files relating to Sandburg's disappearance," Simon began, but then hesitated to finish until he caught the look in Jim's eyes. "Someone hacked into our systems and erased all our files pertaining to Sandburg, including the personnel files. It's like they just made him disappear," Simon whispered, knowing the Sentinel would hear every word.

Jim paled noticeably and took in the pained expression on his Captain's face and nodded understandingly.

"Okay then, we drop it. I won't let Sandburg disappear," Jim scowled quietly, slamming his hands on the table for emphasis.

"I'll see you in a few more weeks, Jim. Take all the time you and the kid need to get back to norm. Keep me posted on how the kid's doing, will ya, Jim? I shouldn't have to keep pestering Rafe and Brown for updates," Simon warned, smiling broadly.

Jim bought four sandwiches and returned to the loft to check on Blair.

"Hey, guys, dinner," he called out gruffly as he came through the front door.

They greedily attacked him for the sandwiches and sat at the table to eat.

"This is great, Jim," Blair commented as he took a big bite of the vegetarian sub and sat back contentedly.

The guys nodded their agreement as they ate the rest of the meal in silence sensing the Sentinel's agitated state.

After dinner, when the company had gone home and the guys had settled onto the sofa for some primetime television, Blair couldn't take it any more.

"What's the matter, Jim?" he asked determinedly, turning to face his Sentinel.

"Nothing... it's okay, Chief," Jim lied.

"Come on, I've been feeling better. I'm sorry about going a little Norman Bates in my room earlier. I was just frustrated. I keep thinking I'll never remember who I am and what happened to me," Blair poured out in a rush of words.

"That's what I need to talk to you about, Chief," Jim began hesitantly, his eyes searching the room for some visible means of escape.

"What?" Blair inquired, beginning to grow worried.

"I think we should concentrate on who you are and not worry so much about what happened," Jim whispered so softly that Blair suddenly wished he had Sentinel hearing.

"Jim, man, I'm not a Sentinel. You're gonna have to speak up," Blair reminded.

Jim smiled as he thought about how far Blair had come since returning home 2 weeks ago. "Sorry," he mumbled a little louder. "I said that we should concentrate on the who you are part and not worry about what happened to you or the guys that did it," Jim repeated a little louder, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Blair was taken aback. "Look, I know I had my brain swiss-cheesed, but I've got enough undamaged brain cells left to remember that Jim Ellison always gets his man," Blair teased lightly, the concern evident in his eyes.

Jim looked away unable to face his young Guide. "Not this time, my friend," he whispered. "Not this time."

"You're not telling me everything, are you?" Blair asked without accusation, searching Jim's face for any sign of deceit.

Jim took a deep breath and blew it out as he considered what to tell his Guide. "No, I'm not, but Blair, I don't think it's a good time..."

Blair lurched to his feet, his face a mask of anger. "How can you of all people deny me any information that you may have. I'm struggling _every damn day_ to put the pieces together," Blair spat indignantly. "I can't believe you, man. I trusted you!" he yelled as he stalked into his room, slamming the door.

Jim bristled at Blair's anger as tears began to form in his eyes. He stood up shakily from the sofa and approached Blair's room quietly. Jim could hear soft sobbing from behind the door as he knocked gently, hoping to be allowed in.

"Come in," Blair called softly, raising his head up to meet Jim's concerned expression.

"Look, Chief, I know things have been difficult, and I don't want you to think for one second that I've been holding out on you. When Rafe and Brown were here earlier, I was at a meeting with Simon at the deli on the corner," Jim began, knowing Blair deserved the truth.

"What was the meeting about?" Blair asked, looking up into the face of his friend.

Jim took a deep breath willing himself to continue. "There's no real way to sugar coat this Blair so I'm just gonna come right out with it. Sixteen federal agents and support personnel were murdered in Chicago. They were investigating your disappearance and all your files were the only ones missing. I know this will sound crazy. These people who took you may be part of a covert government agency. Someone burned all the files at Major Crimes too," Jim paused as he noticed Blair paling considerably.

Jim crossed the room to Blair and gently put an arm around his shoulders. "You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Blair nodded silently, unable to draw breath to form the words that whirled in his brain.

"There's more," Jim stated gently, afraid to push his Guide over the edge. "Can you handle it?" Jim asked quietly, intently studying Blair's eyes.

"As long as you're here," Blair pressed, finding his words at last, his blue eyes trusting his partner completely.

Jim smiled at that and continued, drawing strength from Blair's resolve.

"Someone hacked into the Cascade Police Department's computer system and wiped all your files, including the ones in personnel," Jim finished quietly, giving his partner a few minutes to process the new information.

"Like they wanted to erase me," Blair whispered Sentinel-soft, his eyes turned toward the floor.

Jim nodded his affirmation. "We're dropping the case. I won't let anyone erase you, Blair. You've got to believe me," he promised, guiltily as he laid a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Look Simon's giving us a few weeks to work through everything and he said to call if we need more time. Why don't we just relax and get you back into the swing of things, okay?" he asked, brushing a stray curl from Blair's pale face.

Something in Jim's expression caused him to reach for the older man. Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder, he whispered, "It wasn't your fault, Jim. There was nothing you could have done. I admit that I was angry at first. I wanted you to save me and a part of me blamed you when you couldn't," Blair finally admitted to Jim, meeting his gaze.

Jim flinched at those words, his guilt overriding all his senses. "I should have protected you better," Jim added defensively, trying to meet Blair's eyes.

Blair nodded, then whispered softly. "Maybe I should leave to protect the Sentinel. It's my job. That's what you told me a Guide does," Blair's voice trailed off, knowing it would break his heart, but he would do it to save Jim.

"Not gonna happen, Chief. The Guide protects the Sentinel that's true, but it's also the Sentinel's responsibility to protect the Guide. It means we're in this together for the long haul. You got that, Chief?" Jim finished, his hands on the sides of Blair's head, ensuring that Blair would acknowledge not only his words but the conviction behind them.

Blair nodded affirmatively. "Together," he whispered with a smile.

Jim continued, "Look, it's late and we've had a really tough day. Why don't we just turn in early?" Jim suggested thoughtfully.

Blair looked aghast at the suggestion. "You expect me to sleep after telling me all this?"

Jim grimaced. "Would it help if I slept on the floor in your room?" Jim asked seriously.

Blair shook his head. "I don't want you to have to sleep on the floor. I'm sure I'll be fine," he whispered unconvinced, unable to meet Jim's eyes.

Jim looked at his Guide knowingly and gently turned Blair's face toward him, waiting for the young anthropologist to meet his eyes. Blair's eyes searched his Sentinel's for understanding and strength. "Why don't we just camp out tonight? We can put the sleeping bags out upstairs and we'll both sleep on the floor. Does that sound okay?" Jim asked.

"Sure," Blair replied, still a little unsure.

Jim pulled out their camping gear and hefted both sleeping bags over his shoulder, heading up the staircase to his room.

"Come on, Blair. It'll be just like Mexico, only no spirit guides, psychopaths or nerve gas," Jim said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Blair laughed and headed up the stairs to settle in for the night with his best friend. There would be a lot of healing to do over the next few months, but he knew he was on his way back and as long as Jim stood by his side, he'd make it.

* * *

 _When we are motivated by goals that have deep meaning, by dreams that need completion, by pure love that needs expressing, then we truly live life. -_ _ **Greg Anderson**_

 ** _The End_**


End file.
